


dor

by anoukinspace



Series: counting days [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anyways, Artist Steve Rogers, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, M/M, Memories, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suffering, There will be fluff eventually, Yearning, a lot of that, and so am i, aou didnt happen because i say so, bc who do you think i am, but you gotta wait, enjoy, hes also a clown, hes the only chill one, idk how to tag, quarantine did things to my brain and im not so sure i like them, seriously theres coffee streaming through my veins, thats it, the timeline is a hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:22:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoukinspace/pseuds/anoukinspace
Summary: Searching for Bucky is a mission doomed to fail. It’s what he’s trained to do, hiding. Or, the Winter Soldier is. Steve doesn't know if there's a clean line between them. He remembers his face on that table, weary-eyed and scared. And that had only been the start.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: counting days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967341
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	dor

**Author's Note:**

> this started as an attempt to beat writer's block, and ended up being far longer than i would've thought. it's yearning, it's angst, it's everything stucky naturally is.  
> i've fallen into the stucky rabbit hole, and there's no way out. it's so ridiculously canon.  
> dor is romanian for longing, just way more profound. its beautiful. google it.  
> enjoy.

It started raining around November. The clouds got thicker and the sun seemed to hide more and more, leaving the days grey and colorless. There was a certain heaviness to the rain, and Steve had come to enjoy it. He spent a lot of his time with Sam, who had grown to be as much of a best friend as Steve had let him. 

If you asked Sam, he’d probably say a little more than Steve had let him.

He spent time drawing, getting back into that old habit of his. In retrospect, he thought, he had always picked up the pencil when he wasn't feeling great. He was sure at least some of the others had noticed. He knew that Sam had, he’d make sure to check in on him regularly. 

Most of the time, he spent thinking about blue eyes and brown hair. About a time much different from now. He thought about little 5’4 foot tall Stevie and his best friend. 

He thought about late nights and early mornings arm in arm, stolen smiles, hidden touches.

Nat didn't understand, she explicitly stated such. And she was right, her best friend was fighting right next to her, standing on the right side. Although there was a time when he didn't. 

Sam understood better, but not fully. He had lost his best friend in battle, and sometimes it was him who told Steve about the guilt he still carried with him. Steve knew the feeling.

He knew that he didn't have to hide it, but he felt like he owed it to Bucky not to say anything. It was his decision as well. Was it stupid? Steve really wasn't sure.

Bucky had pulled him out of the water. It didn't make any sense. Or maybe it did, Steve wasn't sure about that either. In general, there were few things he was still sure about. And Bucky had not been one of those things for a long time. What had happened to him, free from Hydra? Where was he? _Who_ was he?

He thought about it more often than he liked to admit. Even if he were to find Bucky, even if he were to recognise him, would he know? Would he remember? Even if he remembered, would he still feel it?

Steve shook his head and shifted his focus back to the paper in front of him.

***

He first saw him on one of their nights out. It had become somewhat of a routine, the three of them going out, getting a few drinks, talking about everything and everyone. The Avengers were a lot to take in, as was the 21st century - at least for Steve. 

Steve didn't get drunk. Oh, how he wished he could, sometimes. Sam and Nat chose not to when they were out with him, in solidarity. It was that (mis)fortunate fact that made him still see clear after having spent a fair amount of money and time in the bar. 

At first, he almost missed the figure, sitting where the light was dim, all alone. In fact, the first couple of times, his eyes brushed over his features without catching his attention. In hindsight, it must have been his subconscious, recognising the face and urging his eyes to find it. And eventually, he did.

He didn't say anything, for a while. Just kept listening to one of Sam’s old stories and Nat’s laughter, while his eyes scanned the face of the person he still loved more than anything from afar.

His hair was cut, less chaotic than the last time he had seen him. Dark shadows lay under his eyes, and there was a certain hunchedness in the way he sat. He didn't look like a super soldier sent to kill. This was not the Winter Soldier. This was Bucky. Or that what was left of him.

It was Nat who, after several minutes, finally followed his gaze. She stopped all her movements, slowly turning back to look at Steve. “Is that…?” Steve nodded. “Holy shit.” Meanwhile, Sam too had followed their gazes, rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “And now?” “I gotta go talk to him. I doubt he's gonna start a gunfire here.”

The joke wasn't as funny as Steve had hoped for it to be. 

He stood up, regardless. The steps towards the table he was sitting at felt like an eternity.

Bucky had noticed him coming closer. But he didn't run, he just looked at Steve approaching him until he was standing in front of him.

“Bucky.” It was almost a whisper.

“Steve.” His voice was hoarse and raspy, and he averted Steve’s gaze by looking at his hands instead. Steve couldn't blame him, he hadn't expected Bucky to have spoken very much. 

“You remember who I am?” 

A chuckle, more of a huff, really. “I think I'm starting to.” His eyes stayed downcast.

“Can I sit?” The question was hesitant, and Steve’s every cell tensed waiting for the response.

Bucky gestured to the chair opposite him.

**

After that, they met regularly. Always in that same spot in that same bar. Bucky never talked much. Most of the time, they just sat in companionable silence.

“You know, I still don't remember my mother's name. Or if I had any family. It’s always flashes, and they're gone as soon as I try to catch them.” Bucky said one day, and it was the most Steve had heard him talk since before the war. Even reunited in Europe, Bucky had gone quiet. Steve beat himself up over it some nights, if he just had seen the symptoms, if he had just listened better, if he just had _helped_ … He tried not to go down that path too much. 

Steve told him about his family, he talked about Brooklyn, about Europe, about the time Tony lovingly called his “capsicle” time. Sometimes, he talked about their childhood, stories from when he was a scrawny, asthmathic boy who always got into fights. There was just one thing he never talked about, one thing he left out of all his stories as to not scare Bucky away. The thing that had torn him apart every day since he first recognised Bucky on that bridge, that godforsaken bridge. 

He didn't want to talk about it. Because even though the memories came back, slowly and flashy, this wasn't _his_ Bucky. Not anymore. Not yet. Talking about the stolen nights and carefully hidden affections just didn't feel _right_. If he didn't remember it, then there was no point in telling him, leaving only guilt behind, or maybe worse. 

***

March brought the end of winter, with the snow finally melting and the first flowers shyly showing themselves. The wind was less merciless, and the parks started filling with people eager to wave the coldness goodbye.

Bucky remembered more and more. He remembered his missions, the images of war, destruction and death burning themselves into his brain, laying behind his eyes just waiting for him to close them. 

They met almost every day. They took walks in the parks or met in cafes, sitting in places that enabled Bucky to see every possible threat. There were few positive memories recurring, but there were. As a start, that was good enough.

Bucky remembered his sisters now, and his mother's face looking up at him lovingly. 

“Your mom’s name was Sarah.” He said one day, completely unprompted. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Steve had wanted to cry right there and then. Those were flashes of _him_. Of pre-serum Steve, the Steve Rogers that only James Buchanan Barnes had ever really known. 

***

It started to get hot in June, the people on the streets wearing sunglasses and eating ice cream. 

June also came with good news. 

Steve wasn't as caught up in politics as one might have believed.

They were strolling around Washington Square Park, watching families play with little children, students reading books or listening to music, and elders connecting over a piece of apple pie. It was lively, it was a nice view. The two of them sat on a bench, a little away from the crowd, silently enjoying each other’s company. It was like that a lot. Sometimes Bucky would tell Steve of a regained memory, sometimes Steve would fill blurred spots for Bucky if he asked to. A lot of the time, they just remained silent. 

It was Bucky who first noticed the two men on a bench not too far away from them, and Steve was quick to follow his gaze. They were too close. Steve instinctively looked around to see if anyone else had picked it up. No one seemed to care. His eyes fixated back on the two men, hunched over a smartphone, eagerly waiting for _something_.  
.  
The ‘something’ took its time. Steve was happy for the two of them, but he couldn't shake the uneasiness off his shoulders, not with Bucky next to him, closely studying their every move. 

It’s not that Steve didn't want them to be themselves in public. It was rather that he had had to be so careful that even after all that time, he couldn't shake the fear of policemen walking up to them, putting them in cuffs. 

Steve didn't know if Bucky remembered any of it. He didn't even know if Bucky knew that, back in the days, they could've been arrested. He was pretty sure he didn't remember _them_ , given his reaction to Steve, or lack thereof. It hurt, but it was okay. This was the most _Bucky_ Bucky had been in a very long time, and he was happy to spend time with his best friend, even if he didn't remember everything. And maybe, maybe there was a chance of remembrance. 

The ‘something’ happened just as Steve was lost in this eternal train of thoughts, effectively pulling him out. 

A moment of total concentration, two pairs of eyes scanning whatever had appeared on the screen. Then, reactions. One of the men started grinning the brightest smile Steve had seen in 70 years; the other had started sobbing. They looked at each other, teary-eyed, smiling like idiots. They lay their foreheads together, and Steve looked away before he invaded any more privacy than he already had, these past minutes. He noticed Bucky looking over his shoulders, almost identical to the movement Steve had made just minutes prior. He could see the confusion in Bucky’s face, clearly he didn’t understand why he had checked his surroundings.

So his subconscious remembered, even when his conscious didn't. Steve wondered what that could mean, and stopped his train of thoughts before he got his hopes up too high. 

**

Once Steve was back at the tower, it didn't take him long to find out what the ‘something’ was. All it took was to open the news.

“US Supreme Court rules same-sex marriage is a legal right across all US states”

It took a moment to sink in. He was happy, of course he was, but his first reaction wasn't to cry, or to smile. He felt the gravity of this decision, the weight lifted off not just his, but so many others’ shoulders. And apparently, his body’s natural reaction to such exceptionally great news was to shake his head in astonishment. 

He knew that, if it had happened back in the day, he would have reacted differently, more like the men- the couple, Steve was now sure of it- in the park, maybe even more enthusiastic. But then again, those men did probably never have to go to the lengths Steve and Bucky had had to to keep their relationship under the radar.

Sam found him sitting at the table before Steve could get his act together, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s going on?” he asked. Steve shook his head. “Ah, it’s nothing. Just read the news.” Now Sam turned to look directly at him. “Gay people can get married now.” 

Sam’s body language turned defensive in a matter of moments, and only looking back did Steve notice how he had come across. Damn. 

“Yeah, and what about it?” Sam’s voice told him just by tone that Steve was on his best way to lose a lot of sympathy on Sam’s end. 

“No nononono god no, that came across really bad. I’m happy we’re finally there, I truly am. It’s just… People used to go to jail for this. God, I knew two boys, back when I was young. They went to such lengths just to be able to love each other without risking to be incarcerated. It’s…. It’s huge.” 

The tension left Sam’s body almost visibly. He sat next to Steve, smiling that slick grin he always smiled and _god_ , Steve had never been more relieved to see it. “God Rogers, you scared me there. I was fully getting ready to deck you.” Steve laughed. “Yeah, I know.’’

“Those two guys you were talking about, what happened to them?”

“I don't know, I wasn't around long enough. I don't think they were caught, before I went under the ice.”

“That’s good, man. I hope they had a happy life together.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

***

Bucky started spending time at the tower around September. After Steve had assured him various times that yes, it was okay with the others and no, they wouldn’t be freaked out around him. 

Now sure, it took some time for the others to adjust. Bucky only spoke to Steve, and on very rare occasions hoaxed out a word or two to Sam or Natasha. (Steve trusted them the most. So Bucky did the same.) He didn’t let anybody touch him, nor did he touch anyone - not even Steve. For the others, who were all a rather casually physical group, it was maybe the biggest challenge. Expressing he was welcome without shoulder-pats or handshakes or hugs. But they all did it.

Over time, he warmed up a little. He occasionally looked someone in the eye, thanked them, on good days even greeted them. 

December came around when Bucky spent practically all his time at the tower.

Mid-February, he had moved in. 

The others were nicer than expected, and more respectful than anyone Bucky had ever met. Or really, anyone he remembered meeting.

He liked Natasha. A lot of the time he didn't spend alone or with Steve, he spent with her. To some extent, he could relate to her. Her presence was soothing, understanding. She knew not to ask when he became uncomfortable, or not to mention certain topics. 

He would have gone as far as to call her a good friend. Friends were a rather rare sight in his life, even though, over the last few months, his experience with other people had shifted rather positively. He got along with Sam well enough. Banner was by nature a calming spirit, and on some days, he would like to sit with him, in silence, like he had with Steve in the beginning.

Actually, he thought, maybe he had a few friends. 

Bucky had noticed something strange, though. 

He spent most of his time with Steve, and he considered him his best friend, even if they didn't have the relationship other best friends had. (When he saw Natasha and Barton, they were always joking around, playfully dragging each other, their relationship seemed effortless. Tony and Rhodey weren't dissimilar. They would snap at each other with sarcastic remarks that between any other people, would've come over as rude, but with them, the appreciation for each other soaked through every sentence. They all laughed a lot. You could see them enjoying themselves and each other’s company. They also touched each other a lot. There was a lot of hugging, of shoulder-patting, of casual cuddling going on in the tower.  
Steve and him were different. Bucky still didn't talk much, most of the time he just listened. He kept his distance to anyone, letting Steve closer but not too close. Their friendship took effort. And Bucky was thankful to Steve for trying, just as thankful as he was to Sam for being a real, normal best friend to Steve. He deserved it.)

But somehow, Steve’s friendship _felt_ different from the others. He couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't put a name to it, but it was different being around Steve than around Natasha, or Sam, or Banner. Especially when it was just the two of them. He couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something, he was sure of it. There was no apparent reason, so why was it like that? 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a reason.

***

It was one day in April that Steve stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. Bucky appeared on the other side of the room, just as he wanted to go back to whatever he was doing before (he had forgotten it the second he had spotted Bucky and damn, he needed to get a grip). He offered to pour another one for Bucky, who smiled slightly, and nodded.

Steve still hadn't gotten used to seeing him smile. It happened more frequently now, but he couldn't stop his heart from catching speed whenever Bucky actually smiled. It brought him all the way back to being a sixteen-year-old kid from Brooklyn with butterflies in his stomach. He was pathetic. He couldn't bring himself to care.

He turned off the tap and approached Bucky to hand him his glass. After, Bucky would take a step back and stay there, 2 feet away. It was routine, it was normal. Bucky would always retreat into his personal space. Except he didn't, this time. He stayed right there, lingering.

Suddenly, Steve felt a hand laying on his arm, and looked up to see Bucky’s human hand sitting there. His knees felt weak as he looked up to see Bucky’s face, an uncertain smile grazing his far too perfect features. 

“Thanks, Steve.” He said, before dropping his hand and turning away. After he was gone, Steve had to sit down. 

His heart was hammering, beating so loud that he was sure that anyone who would see him right there, they would be able to hear it too.

He had had barely enough time to register his touch and yet here he was, sitting down at the small kitchen table, holding onto it for his dear life, fearing that he would never be able to recover. Exhaustion swam into his limbs and he closed his eyes, remembering the hand on his arm and _god_ he was pathetic. The others touched him all the time. But this wasn't the others, this was Bucky. Bucky who, ever since he had escaped Hydra’s hands, had never touched a single soul. Bucky who, after all these decades, still made his skin tingle long after he touched him. Bucky who, a lifetime ago, had barely been able to keep his hands away from Steve. And _god_ , his touch still felt exactly like he remembered.

If there were tears in his eyes, no one could prove it. 

When Sam walked into the kitchen half an hour later, Steve still sat at the coffee table, his untouched glass of water sitting on the counter. Sam didn't ask.

***

July’s nights were hot, and a lot of the time, Steve would sleep even lighter than usual, thanks to the heat. 

That’s why, one night long after midnight, he was woken up by a knock on his door. He got up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he trotted to the door.

Steve did not expect to open his door to Bucky. And he sure as hell wasn't prepared for it. Regardless, Bucky stood there, still in his normal clothes, with big dark bags under his eyes. It took Steve a moment to register the situation, but when he did, he was wide awake in moments. He stepped aside, letting Bucky in, then closing the door after him.

Bucky never really looked rested, but he looked worse in that moment. Steve’s heart stopped, even if it didn't show. He sat down on the bed, looking out the window, gesturing Bucky to sit to his left. He did.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Bucky’s breathing was rapid and stuttering at first, and it took its time to slowly calm down. Steve wondered what had happened, what awful thing Bucky had remembered that had thrown him so completely off his rhythm that he felt the need to be with someone in the middle of the night. He was glad Bucky had come to _him_. 

Steve wondered if Bucky felt the familiarity that the two of them shared, if his mind had burnt out only the memories or the feelings, too. He hoped it hadn’t. 

He waited some time before he turned his face and looked at Bucky, giving him time to hide his expression or turn away. He did neither. And so, Steve took his time to inspect him, closely, while still keeping his distance.

His shoulders were hunched, completely disregarding his usual poise, and the hand that wasn’t metal was shaking ever-so-slightly. One of his feet was bouncing; Steve guessed he didn't even notice. His face looked pale in the moonlight, his lower lip bitten bloody. His eyes were fallen in, his hair chaotic.

Bucky was a hot mess.

Steve didn't try to get him to talk. He just sat, and waited.

“What if it happens again?” Bucky’s voice was raspy. Steve didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what he was talking about. 

“If _what_ happens again?” He tried to sound as soft as possible.

“What if someone takes me again, transforms me back into that… that monster?” His hand started to shake more violently.

“They won’t, Buck. You're safe here. Everyone is looking out for you. Plus, the tower is one of the safest places in New York. You're okay.”

“You know, I killed JFK, one of the biggest shootings to this day, and even now, it doesn't really bother me. I don't even recall much of that.” Pause. “But these- these flashes, they won't go away. I killed _children_ , Steve, literal _kids_. I didn't even bat an eye. And don't get me wrong, my memories coming back is a gift, but I just can’t stop seeing their faces, those small and round faces with those big, scared, eyes, and I try to forget them but they just _won’t go away_.” His voice started shaking and Steve’s gaze shot up in time to see a single tear fall out of Bucky’s eye, before he shut them close. 

Breathing felt a lot harder, suddenly. Steve silently cursed himself.

He said nothing. He didn't know what to say. If it was the right thing to do to even speak. So he just extended his hand, a silent invitation.

_Take it, if you need it._

Eventually, Bucky did. His fingers clasped around Steve’s, squeezing them tightly. 

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m with you, till the end of the line.”

Bucky squeezed his hand a little harder as another tear escaped his eye.

**

Bucky had stayed the entire night. Steve didn't sleep. There was this stone lying on his chest, knowing that Bucky was hurting, but not knowing how to help without crossing any boundaries. How to help, at all.

In the morning, Bucky had decided to go for coffee with Bruce. Steve didn't know if it was to get away from him after he had been so vulnerable the night before, if it was calming for him, or if it had another reason. And ultimately, it was none of his business, whether he liked it or not. Things were different now, even with Bucky here, and he had to remind himself. Don't take his hand. Don't brush his forehead. Let him initiate any contact. Give him space. It hurt, like hell, and still he didn't know what he would do without him. 

When Sam saw him sitting on the table with coffee before him, head in his hands, he decided he had had enough. 

“Steve, man, we gotta talk.”

Steve looked at him, and he had looked annoyed hadn't he been so tired that whatever his facial expression tried to be, he just looked tired and defeated.

Sam nodded in the direction of his room, and Steve complied, too tired to argue.

They walked in uncomfortable silence, which was a first, and when Sam let the door fall shut behind them, he let out a deep sight.

“You gotta stop doing that.”

Steve looked down, said nothing. 

“Come on. Work with me, here. I’m trying my best to be a friend. You look like hell, and I’m seriously starting to worry about you.” Sam looked at him, and the worry in his face betrayed the anger in his voice. Then, softer: “Did you sleep at all last night?” Steve shook his head. Sam searched his eyes, his voice almost whispered. “What happened, pal?”

And _fuck_ he wanted to sob because that was what Bucky used to call him and he missed it, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, no matter how much he tried to be okay with it, it hurt, and he wanted things to be normal again, just like they were all those years back, and he just wasn't ready for the truth that it might never come back.

He was pathetic. He was _not_ going to cry. 

“Bucky came to me, tonight. He was a mess. The memories of his missions are coming back, and they're not pretty.” A moment of silence. “He was crying. He tried not to, but he did.”

Sam sat down next to him, laying an arm around his shoulders. “You know you can't go on like this. If you destroy yourself over this, you ain't helping anyone.”

Steve didn't look up. He knew that Sam had a point, but Steve was willing to burn the world down for Bucky. Or himself. Really, there were no boundaries.

“Give yourself time. I know it's hard. He was your best friend. And it's different now. He's a completely different person. But in your heart, he’s still your best friend from 70 years ago. I mean, I can only imagine what that feels like.”

Steve’s face turned miserable, even as he tried to conceal it, because that’s where Sam was wrong, he wasn't just a best friend, and he wasn't completely different. Sometimes he moved a certain way, responded to something someone had said, used a certain vocabulary, and it was _his Bucky_ , it was that same person he had fallen in love with 80 years ago, and Steve had to be careful to act normal; and yet he was still a lovesick idiot, longing for a man he had lost over and over again.

And when Sam saw his expression, he smiled a sad, knowing smile.

“But he was more than a best friend, wasn’t he?”

Steve pressed his eyes shut. He was not going to cry. His silence was answer enough. Sam pulled him closer. “God, I really hoped I was wrong. Shit.”

And then the tears did start coming, for the first time in 20 months, he let himself cry for Bucky. Sam just let him.

“When did you know?” he asked eventually, trying a laugh but not quite succeeding. 

“I suspected it a long time ago. I remember one time in March when you came home from one of your walks or whatever and there was something, you know, different about you. And like, I didn't know what it was then, but he remembered something, didn't he?” 

Steve nodded. 

“After that, little things. Like that glimmer in your eyes when you talk about him. You gotta look closely, but it’s there. Especially since he's around, I seen it more. You keep eyeing him and you almost make contact with him. The way you’re so much better and at the same time so much more miserable when he’s there.”

Steve rubbed his face with both hands. Looking lost. “Do you think…”

“The others know? Nah, I don't think they do. I wasn't sure either. Just picked up on some little things. And I think your face when I described him as your best friends kinda gave you away.” Steve nodded, then let himself fall back on the bed. He looked at Sam a little worried, and wondered when Sam had started to be able to read his mind, because he said “Don’t worry man, I ain't telling no one.” 

“Does he remember?”

“No.”

**

After that, he did start talking about it. It felt good to get the weight off his chest. And Sam was more supportive and understanding than he could have hoped for.

“Remember when you thought I was against gay marriage?” Steve asked one day.

“Yeah, like a whole fucking clown.”

“That day, we were in the park. The only reason I looked it up was because we saw a gay couple sitting a little distance away, and I had to know.”

“Ah yes, Captain America. Stalker first, Superhero second.” Sam laughed and Steve rolled his eyes at him.

“When I saw them that close, my automatic reaction was to turn around to look for anyone. And of course there wasn't, this is New York, for fucks sake. But it's a reflex. It’s trained. And Buck kept staring at them, and when they got closer, he did the exact same thing. Except, he had no idea why. You could see it in his face, he was so confused about why he had stared, why he had checked our surroundings. He didn't remember, but his subconscious did. And fuck, I’m grasping on straws here, but I’m not ready to give up hope that he’ll actually remember.”

“Those guys you told me about that day, those weren't your friends at all, were they. That was you two.”

Steve nodded, and his eyes turned sad again. They always did, when he remembered the time when Bucky had loved him as much as he loved Bucky. 

“We served together for quite some time. Both as howling commandos. And when we were stationed together, when we were on parole, there was no one around. And he would scoot closer and snuggle up on me, and I would comb my fingers through his hair. And whenever we heard something, the first thought wasn't ‘what if someone’s attacking us’, it was ‘get away from each other, they can’t find us out’. 

“He was the one who snuck touches. He took my hand under the table, he put his chin on my shoulder, he would let that pat on the back linger just a little too long. And that's the hardest about this. That I _can’t touch him_. 

“You know, when he was gone after he pulled me out that lake I felt like a failure because I had lost him, _again_. And Nat tried to set me up with girls, but I just lost my boyfriend, or, I don't know, the love of my life again. And I joked around but I honestly just wanted to disappear. And then we saw him at that bar, and I knew that if I wouldn't go there, I’d never stop blaming myself and this might be my last chance, and there was no universe where I would let it pass. I went to that table and he said he was starting to remember, and I couldn't let him go away.

“He asked a lot, about his family and mine, about our childhood. And I just couldn't tell him about us. It’s like falling in love all over again, fearing rejection so you don't say anything. I still don't know if he remembers, I don't know if he doesn't feel it anymore or if he just doesn't remember. I don't know if there's a voice in the back of his head telling him. That day in March you talked about, that’s when he first remembered something about pre-serum me, and I thought if he remembered that, he’d remember us, and I don't know if I was wrong.

“And he started hanging around here and all of the sudden, it all felt so right, so much more right, to an extent where I didn't realise how much his presence exhausted me, in the best way. I keep seeing him every day for so long and I have to handle him like a raw egg. And I didn't realise how much that affected me. I slept less, and I think that only stopped when you confronted me about it. And even now, it still eats at me day and night. To be honest, I don't know if I’m truly okay. I’m maybe the closest to being okay I’ll get, but I don't know if I could get over him.

“That day you walked into the kitchen. He put his hand on my arm for like two seconds, and I swear I almost choked. And then that night, he took my hand and squeezed it. It happens rarely now, that he’ll put his hand on my back or something, and I don’t know why he does, but the thing is, he does and you just… there’s no way to describe that feeling. That longing for something and suddenly it's there and it's real and you almost go crazy because this may be the closest to still that aching.”

Sam said nothing as Steve finished. He tried to imagine how he had to feel, but he still couldn't. Steve laughed. “I swear, sometimes I think I’m going crazy.”

***

When October came around, Bucky had settled in quite well. His memories kept on coming, and he felt more a part of life than he had for a long time. Conversation came easier to him now, and he had come to enjoy occasional group dinners or hangouts. Laughing felt good. He considered the Avengers as friends, or, well, the ones he saw more than once every six months. 

He was standing in the kitchen one day, exchanging a few words with Bruce sitting at the big table in the room attached to it, when something flashed before his eyes. He had gotten used to it, memories tended to surface completely at random and in the most unfitting moments.

_A head on his chest._

_“We shouldn't be doing this, Bucky. It’s too risky. If anyone decides to check up on us or needs help, we’re gone.”_

_He remembered himself chuckling, shaking his head silently._

_“Stevie, they’re sleeping. No one needs our help. This is the army, not middle school. Now sleep. I’ll wake you in a few.”_

_He remembered knowing he was lying, that he’d let him sleep for as long as possible._

_Steve moved around a little, settling, before he murmured something that Bucky didn't quite catch._

He had only noticed his glass had fallen out of his hand as it shattered with a loud crash, followed by “Everything alright?” from Bruce. As he looked at his human hand, it was shaking. Was it really- Had they been- _Oh god_. 

Bruce walked up to the door when he didn't get a response, and Bucky saw him just in time to ask “Where’s Steve?”, cutting off every question he had potentially wanted to ask

Bruce looked stunned. “Away, why?”

”Can you tell him to look for me when he comes back?” He tried his best to control his voice from showing any of the panic and overwhelm out of his voice.

“I will, are-”

Bucky walked right past him before Bruce could finish his sentence, not caring about the mess of shards scattered around the kitchen.

**

He leaned on the door as soon as he closed it. His head was spinning. The memory was vivid. Steve and him, cuddling, Steve’s head lying on his chest as he tells him to sleep. In the 1940’s. And it felt right. The strange thing was, that something about this memory felt right.

Some of his memories felt wrong. Not as in, he didn't think they were real, but they felt like he was doing the wrong thing. Usually, that was because he had. The memories from earlier scarcely felt like anything. Sometimes he remembered his mother or his sisters and it would make him feel a little warm. He remembered the first memory of his mom coming back. It felt good. It felt warm and loving. 

It didn't feel _right_. 

This one, it did. 

_Stevie_.

There was a sting in his heart as he thought of the nickname, and he had to sit down. That sting had become a familiar feeling. Sometimes when Steve came into a room, it felt strange for a second. He had never interpreted it as a sting before, but in hindsight he could definitely say it was one.

When the first memory of something had surfaced, usually others followed quickly.

_There was a jazz song playing in the diner. Steve sat in front of him, even sitting he had to look up to him. He searched for Steve’s hand under the table. Steve smiled and took it, but looked around worriedly._

_“I know we shouldn't. But I miss you.”_

_He laughed as Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re so pathetic.”_

_“Oh oh oh, careful there, I'm 6 inches taller than you.”_

_“Jerk.”_

_“Punk.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

His eyes were stinging, shivers rode down his spine. 

It made sense. All of a sudden, all the things he hadn't been able to explain before, they all fit with this one puzzle piece found. How with Steve, it had always felt different, that something in him that missed Steve when he wasn't in the room. That dull thing in his stomach. His sheer inexplicable urge to touch Steve even when he _hated_ touching others, how it felt good, even.

Longing. 

The way he looked around himself whenever he saw a gay couple on the street. How his first reflex after waking up after a nightmare or being woken up by some noise was to go to Steve. 

Fear.

_It got cold in Brooklyn during the winter._

_He held Steve in his arms under the covers as he shivered from the fever. ‘Don't, you’ll get sick’ Steve had said, and he hadn’t let him protest._

_His chest felt tight as he heard Steve’s rattling breathing, felt the tremors in his bones. Every winter could be the last. They knew, it had always been like that. Still, the panic never went away, the desperation never stopped. Pneumonia was something Steve’s body should not have been able to handle, and yet he caught it almost every year, and every year he lay like this, holding Steve’s hand, praying that he would make it, pleading that he’d be okay._

_“Hey, come on, stay with me, don’t go.”_

_“Not without you, never.” Steve’s voice was barely audible and his chest tightened as soon as he heard it._

_“Shh, don't speak. Save your strength.” He pressed their foreheads together._

Not just fear, panic.

Bucky was shaking uncontrollably now, and he had accepted the knot in his throat, the tears welling in his eyes and _fuck_ , what had he been doing to Steve all this time?

He could make sense of it now, when Steve started a story and stumbled over his words, when he started a sentence and broke it off halfway through, when for a second, his gaze seemed fogged. Bucky had no idea if Steve had gotten over him. And he sounded stupid in his own ears, having _just_ remembered it all, but he was desperately hoping Steve hadn't. He was desperately hoping Steve still felt what they had both felt years ago, what he felt right now, concentrated and bundled by the clarity of knowledge. 

Not once had he talked about them. Not once had he asked if he remembered. Not once had he tried to touch him. Not once had he tried to pry him open, even when it must've killed him.

Bucky let out a sob. _Shit_. 

A knock on the door. Bucky wiped away his tears.

Then, a voice. “Hey, are you alright?” Steve. The tears started coming anew.

“Come in.” he hoaxed out.

The door opened, and it felt like slow motion, eternities until Steve was there, closing the door behind him, and he threw his care into the wind, almost ran towards him, and threw himself right into his arms. Steve stiffened for a moment, and Bucky almost wanted to step away, but Steve’s arms tightened around him and it felt good, it felt so good and right and _like home_ , and he couldn't find the strength to pull away. 

“Bucky, what is-” Steve's voice sounded choked. He didn't finish his sentence. 

Bucky had to do something, anything, before this moment was gone, before he would pull away and put an end to the courage Bucky felt due to the sheer desperation. And so he loosened his grip on Steve and pulled away just enough to see his face.

And then he kissed him. It felt like coming home. 

Steve’s shock lasted only for a split second, and he could feel him crying as he kissed him back. It was enough for him to start crying just the same. He cradled Steve’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together as he finally pulled away, tears running down their faces.

“Stevie.” Bucky choked out, and he didn't hear the sob Steve let out, but he could feel it. It rattled through his mark and bones, and Bucky hadn’t realized how much his heart had been aching until it had stopped, right here, right now. He didn't even try to hide his sob. 

Steve’s grip on his back tightened. For the first time in seventy years, someone touched him without meaning harm, for the first time someone’s touch had meant love, not hatred. He buried his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, and it felt so familiar, as if he had spent his whole life doing nothing else. Steve’s hand moved up to cup his neck as they sobbed in unison. 

When they eventually parted, Steve searched his eyes, and carefully lifted his hand to brush a few strands of hair away from Bucky’s forehead. He didn't remember a specific moment, but he remembered the gesture. His head chased after Steve’s by instinct, tears forming in his eyes as he smiled the happiest smile he had ever smiled. Steve was quick to return it.

**

“How-When did you remember?” Steve asked, hushed voice. 

“You were away. I was talking to Bruce and I smashed a glass. Or well, it fell, and my head wasn't clear enough to be worried about it.” 

Steve smiled. It didn't feel real, and somewhere in his mind, a voice told him this was just a dream. But Bucky was there, right in front of him and he was touching him, he was smiling and crying and it was the best feeling Steve had ever known. And he needed it, had needed it for so long, so he took Bucky's hand and kissed him again. More careful, this time. Almost timid. 

“I can't believe you remember.” His words were all but whispered, this was intimate, this was for them, for them and no one else. 

“I can’t believe you've waited for me to remember.” Bucky’s tone mirrored his own.

“What was I supposed to do?” He laughed as the tears started welling up again. “God, I waited everyday, for something, anything. But this, I never dared to dream of this.”

“But you didn't move on.” Bucky’s voice was thick with emotion.

“How could I?” The tears started falling again.

Steve pulled Bucky in for another hug.

***

December brought long nights, heavy snowfall and coldness. Coldness was a perfect excuse for excessive cuddling. Not that either of them had needed an excuse, but the weather outside made it far more acceptable to spend hours on end doing absolutely nothing. 

In the end, superheroes who didn't have any villains to fight were just as unemployed as everyone else.

And so, one particularly stormy afternoon, Steve found himself in the lobby, reading a book with Bucky in his lap, breathing slow and steady. He absent-mindedly carded one hand through Bucky’s hair, softly entangling the knots that had woven themselves into it. 

He was happy. For the first time in many years, he was really happy. This, the snow outside, the warmth inside, Bucky's even breaths and his head in Steve’s lap, this was home. He could not have asked for more. 

Bucky still barely let anyone touch him. He had gotten used to occasional hand-shakes and shoulder-pats, even though everyone still held them at bay. He had let Nat help with his hair, finding it easier (and less painful) that someone with two normal hands would take care of them. The two of them came closer over it. Steve was happy they did.

There were steps coming in from outside, and Steve considered waking Bucky, but he didn't have the heart. It was Tony and Rhodey. Steve had no idea what the hell they had been doing outside in this kind of weather, and ultimately he didn't care. They were debating something; or better, Tony was debating something while Rhodey tried his best to keep Tony grounded. It was one of Rhodey’s rarest and most admired qualities. No-one else had managed it quite yet.

They stepped into the room, and Steve prayed they would quieten down so as to not wake up Bucky.

And they did. Not just did they quieten down, they went completely silent. Steve could _feel_ Tony’s eyes jumping from his face to his lap and back to his face. He didn't get the chance to say something.

“What the hell?” He expressed, loudly, and looked between Bucky, Steve, and now, Rhodey. Latter was already ready to shut him up if necessary. Steve was thankful for it.

“What’s going on here?? He doesn't _do_ that.”

“Tony.” Rhodey sounded like a mother, calling her child back.

“Shh! You’ll wake him.” Steve whisper-shouted, completely ignoring Tony’s question. 

Tony stepped closer, his eyes were now fixated on Bucky. “Why is he… I don't understand what’s going on here.” He whispered. Steve looked up to Rhodey just in time to see him roll his eyes and shake his head in perfect synchronization. Steve laughed silently, then looked back to Tony.

“You don’t have to. He’s comfortable with me, nothing changes for you, that’s all you need to know.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Rude.” he said, before turning away.

Rhodey went up to him to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m happy for you.” he said and smiled, and Steve returned the smile. 

“Thank you.”

Then, Rhodey, too, was gone.

He felt Bucky shifting in his lap, and moments later, a raspy voice demanded “Did something happen?” 

Steve chuckled. “No. Go back to sleep.”

“Mhhkay. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thanks to [gracee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausualmalecstan) for listening to all my thoughts at 3am. she's great. you should check her out.  
> feedback is always a win. leave some!  
> thanks for reading!


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